Mirage
by Faniela
Summary: Because love is elusive, and happiness is but a mirage. After Harry's divorce with Ginny, his children reflect on the aftermath.
1. Prologue: Albus

**Author's Note: This is a story that has been running around in my head for a while, and refused to leave me alone till I got it out. It's probably not the best I have written, but not the worst either. I like Ginny, and I do believe – with all my heart – that Harry got his happily-ever-after. This is just a random inspiration, which I hope you will enjoy. So without further ado, I present to you, **_**Mirage.**_

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Prolugue: Albus

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there used to be a time when i thought that snowdrops were frozen tears. he was the only one who didn't laugh at me.

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The problem with being the son of Harry Potter is that sometimes you tend to confuse the hero in the books with the man that is your Dad. All kids at some point in time have the impression that their parents are invincible. They also generally grow out of it by their tenth birthday, if not before. Not me. I had long since realized that Mum is not a saint, that she makes mistakes just like everyone else. Dad, however, had always been invulnerable, infallible to me.

Until now.

There's some part of me that wants to rage, to scream, because it can't possibly be Dad who's lying there, on the bed of St Mungo's , so unnaturally pale and still. Dad is supposed to be laughing with his family and friends, with his eyes sparkling and full of life. He is supposed to be able to make everything right with a wave of his wand. Every moment now I expect him to open his eyes, to look at me and smile, to take me into his arms and console me like he had when I was young.

Except I know that it's not going to happen. That nothing is ever going to be alright again.


	2. James: To Have Loved And Lost

**James: To Have Loved And Lost**

Sometimes I wonder if she ever feels bad about what she did.

I'd like to think that she does, because I cannot believe that the mother I loved – and still love – would be so callous as to live without guilt after her actions. Sometimes when I lie awake at night, I'd wonder if she too is unable to sleep. I'd wonder if she ever had regrets, if she ever thinks about what could have happened if she had only been stronger, better. I know what it is like to dwell on what-ifs. It's a horrible, sinking feeling, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. When it comes to her, though, I'd say that she deserves it. For as much as she is my mother and I love her, I don't believe I can ever find it within myself to forgive her.

I'm not the type of person to hold grudges. Really, I'm not. With all the pranks that I play, I'd be a hypocrite if I were not a forgiving sort. There is only one thing I cannot forgive, and that is hurting my Dad.

Ginevra Molly Weasley-Malfoy has done that in the worst possible way.

Oh, I've heard the full story, naturally. Mum tearfully explained it all to me as soon as she thought I'd understand. She needn't have worried, of course. Dad didn't want me to grow up without a mother, and made sure to tell me the whole story while portraying her in the best possible light. I know about how Draco Malfoy had help her out in her sixth year when Dad left her to go Horcrux hunting. How they had slowly but surely fallen in love, but each dared not acknowledge their feelings because of the circumstances that they were in. How, after Uncle Fred's death, Dad became the one constant in her life and she convinced herself that she still loved Dad. And how, finally, she met Draco again after Al was born and realized that he was the only one she could be truly happy with. The end result? She asked for Dad to agree to a divorce.

I was only four then, so there's not much that I can remember. But I do remember Mum and Dad sitting us down on the living room couch, telling us that Mum would be moving out of our house, but that we could still visit her every week though we'd be staying with Dad. I remember how they both looked really tired, even though neither of them seemed particularly upset or angry. They are good parents in that way, I suppose. Even though their marriage didn't work out, they didn't let it affect their kids – at least, not in the way some parents do. I know there are some people who are terrified of falling in love, or cannot conceive of a relationship without quarrels and fights, as an aftereffect of their parents' divorce. Not so for Al and I. Mum and Dad had never quarreled in front of us as far as I can remember. Even after their divorce, they remained as friends. Dad continued being a part of the Weasley family, and for a long while, nothing seemed to have changed, except for the fact that Mum no longer lived with us, and Uncle Draco became part of the family.

That was before I learnt that appearances can be deceiving.

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sunflowers are symbols of cheerfulness and optimism because they always face the sun. what people never realize is that they do that not because they want to, but because the base of the sunflower is running away from the sun. just as heroes never wanted to be heroes, but the world had left them with no choice.

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The first time I had any inkling of how much Mum had hurt Dad was nine years ago, when I was eleven. Uncle Draco had promised to help me smuggle a broom into Hogwarts, but Dad had somehow found out and strictly forbidden it. And like any eleven-year-old boy, I threw a huge tantrum. I yelled and cried and screamed at Dad, but no matter what I did he just stood there in the kitchen, looking calm and unruffled and refusing to give in. So I did a most horrible thing. I told Dad that he was a horrible father, and that I could understand why Mum would prefer Draco Malfoy to him. That if I were her I would have left him too. That I wished Uncle Draco were my father instead.

It wasn't true, of course. As much as Uncle Draco doted on me and Al, I could tell, even then, that it was Dad who loved us the most. But I was angry, and I wanted to hurt Dad as much as I felt he was hurting me.

From the look of hurt and shock that flitted across Dad's face, I knew that I had succeeded. A small part of me felt guilty, but a larger part actually felt a sense of satisfaction at finally breaking through the mask of serenity that Dad always had when he was lecturing me and Al. It was a good thing that Aunt Hermione, who had been in the living room with Al. had heard what I said and came into the kitchen, for I dread to think what other hurtful things I might have said had I been given the chance to continue.

"James!" Aunt Hermione had snapped when she stepped into the kitchen. "Your room, now."

I wanted to argue, but the look that she shot me would have made any Dark wizard cower in fright. I reluctantly left the kitchen and saw that Al had already been sent up to his room. Still feeling angry, I decided to express my defiance by listening at the door instead of going to my room as I was told.

Little did I know that what I was going to hear that day would shake my world to the core.

"You need to let them know when they're hurting you, Harry," Aunt Hermione said. "You're spoiling them."

Dad snorted. "Funny, here I thought I was being too strict with them."

"You should know better than to listen to Ginny by now," Aunt Hermione said, sounding rather exasperated.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm beginning to think that Ginny might have been right after all. You know, about me being just a little boy who grew up in a cupboard with no idea how to love someone. I really do ruin everything I touch, don't I?"

I wasn't sure which had shocked me more – the knowledge that Mum had said such hateful words to Dad, or the sheer bitterness in Dad's voice. In any case, I was so surprised that I completely missed what Aunt Hermione said in return.

The next thing I knew, I heard Dad sobbing. That one thing shocked me more than anything else. I had heard Dad laugh, and I had heard him joke. I'd heard him being sarcastic when teasing friends, or caustic and stern when lecturing his subordinates. I'd even heard him shouting angrily when Al and I were in a particularly big trouble. But I had never in my life heard Dad cry. I have no idea how much time had passed with me just standing there, not daring to move while I listened to Dad gasping for breath even as Aunt Hermione comforted him with murmured nonsensical nothings. I don't think it mattered in any case. But there is one thing that I can still remember vividly even after nine years – the heart wrenching, helpless sobs of a man who has had his heart broken one time too many.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Dad finally calmed down again.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he apologized. "I don't know what came over me."

"Don't worry about it," Aunt Hermione hastened to assure him. "I understand. After all, what are friends for?"

"Thanks, it's just-" Dad broke off. I could picture him grimacing as he struggled for the right words. "Ginny is the best and worst thing that ever happened to me."

"What do you mean," Aunt Hermione asked, sounding puzzled. I strained my ears, wanting to know the answer myself.

"Ginny really was right in a way. There has always been a part of me that had never moved past the cupboard under the stairs." Dad's reply was so soft that I'd almost missed it. "In a sense, I'd latched on to her the same say she'd latched on to me after the war, except that she grew out of the need to have a constant, while I never grew out of the need for a family."

"Harry-" Aunt Hermione interrupted, but fell silent when Dad continued to speak.

"I know, Hermione, I know. You and the Weasleys are my family too. But as much as much as I loved all of you, Ginny, James and Albus were different. They were the ones whom I felt would never leave me, because they were exclusively mine."

But Mum had left him anyway, I thought, and I realized with a stab of guilt that I had told him I wanted to leave, too.

"Ginny gave me a taste of what Heaven was like, which made what happened later even worse because it hurt when I had to come back to earth. But," his tone brightened, "it's okay because I still have James and Albus. Better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all, eh?"

Aunt Hermione said something in reply which I didn't quite catch because I was already moving away from the kitchen door. I had heard enough. I felt slightly ashamed for intruding on something so intensely private, and deeply shaken after what I'd heard, but at the same time I was grateful for this glimpse into my Dad's soul.

Aunt Hermione came into my room and gave me a lecture after that, and I think she was surprised to see that I was truly remorseful for what I'd said. She'd probably expected me to be still fuming about my broom, but how could I, after all that I'd heard?

I apologized to Dad, and things seemed to go back to the way they had always been. I never told anyone what I'd heard that day, and allowed Al to maintain the illusion that Dad was invulnerable. But I'd started paying more attention to Dad, and noticed things that I never had before, like how sometimes when he smiled it didn't quite reach his eyes, and how his laugh sounds slightly melancholy sometimes. And there were times when I fancied if I looked hard enough, I could see a part of him that he tried to hide from everyone – a wanderer forever looking for the happiness that eludes him, a man who had grasped heaven in his hands but lost it, and a lonely boy locked in the cupboard under the stairs, crying only for unconditional, unwavering love.


	3. Albus: Chasing After Heaven

**A/N: the whole concept about Heaven, both in this chapter and the previous one, was inspired Absol Master's Circle of Eternity. Her ideas aren't the same, but they were what begun my chain of thoughts that eventually lead to this story. It's an brilliant story, and definitely worth a read.**

_Albus: Chasing After Heaven_

Cancer. A constellation in the night sky that looks like a crab. A horoscope for people born in July. And a deadly, fatal Muggle disease.

Muggle disease. Right. If that isn't a misnomer, I don't know what is.

Then again, I suppose it isn't so bad. After all, wizards aren't supposed to get it unless they've been exposed to a heavy dose of mutagen. Which makes me wonder what kind of God Dad had upset in his previous life.

Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron are outside, waiting to take over me. We're taking turns to sit with Dad, because the Healers forbid more than two people from visiting at one go, and also because most of the family still has to work. The world may be ending to me, but it seems that life goes on.

If it had been anyone else, I would have been crying out at the unfairness of it all. Why Dad? Hasn't he been through enough already? But I don't, because it's Dad, and I know what Dad would tell me if he could. He would say that life has never been fair, so why should it start now?

(There's a little voice in my head saying that he can't tell me anything, and he'll never be able to again. I try my best to ignore that voice, but it's getting harder.)

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the japanese has this fascination with sakura. beautiful, temporary and fragile. they would spend their whole lives searching, seeking, chasing them anywhere. sometimes i think it is precisely because they are so elusive. just like heaven.

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I once asked Dad why the word 'heaven' seems so sad, when it's supposed to represent perfection and bliss. He had said, 'Because it is something that all of us is searching for, but none of us can find it. It seems to lie just tantalizingly beyond our fingertips, but at the same time so far away. Because human beings are imperfect, and with all our flaws heaven is just not for us. In fact," he added as an afterthought, "I don't think we would even be perfectly happy in heaven.'

It wasn't the most poetic quote I'd ever heard, but for some reason it struck a chord within me. I didn't really understand it then, but I think I do now. James and I have been talking a lot about Dad ever since we found out about his cancer, and in the past few months I'd learnt a lot of things about Dad that I'd never even realized I didn't know.

(I have always been the more sensitive among the two of us, but it seems that when it comes to Dad, he has me beat hands down.)

As unbelievable as it is to know that there is a part of Dad that I had never discovered, I can understand why he wouldn't want to "bother" us with his troubles. Aunt Hermione calls it his hero complex, but I think deep down she knows better. No one has ever allowed him to be weak, and after so long he simple doesn't know how, to the point where his closest family members only found out that he had a terminal disease when we found him collapsed on the floor of the living room. It hurts to know that he thought he could be a burden on us in anyway, because it has made me realized that as much as he loves us he doesn't seem to understand – truly, really understand – that we love him in the same way.

I'm not quite sure who I should blame for that. The Dursleys, for never showing him a bit of the love that he had so yearned for, and deserved? Albus Dumbledore, for claiming to love him even as he raised him like a lamb for the slaughter? Voldemort, for killing his parents and taking him away from all those who would have loved him unconditionally? Perhaps I should also blame the laboratory owner for asking for Auror surveillance for his latest nuclear experimental product, and then being so careless as to blow up said product.

(I was so glad that Dad had survived then, but as it turned out, he was only living on borrowed time.)

While I'm at it, perhaps I should blame the world too. Everyone in it must be responsible for this in one way or another, if only for doing nothing to prevent it.

(_So are you, Albus, so are you_, said the voice in my head, but I pretend not to hear it.)

But the world wasn't the last straw that broke the proverbial camel's back was it? No, that honor belongs to one person alone. After all, it was _her_ that broke Dad's heart so thoroughly. It was _her _birthday that we were celebrating when Dad was at the lab, _her _birthday that Dad was avoiding. It was all _her _fault, all of it.

Some part of me tells me that I'm not really being fair, but I squash it ruthlessly. Because damn it, but Dad wasn't even supposed to be on duty that day. If not for her, Dad would be getting ready to attend my graduation ceremony next week, instead of lying here, unmoving, fragile.

Besides, the world has never been fair to Dad, so why should I be fair to anyone else?


	4. Epilogue: James

Epilogue: James

Dad's funeral was surprisingly well attended, considering the public had no idea where, or when, it would be held. I don't think even Dad realized just how many lives he had touched, not by being the Chosen One or the savior of the Wizarding world, but just by being himself. There were all the Weasleys, of course, grieving for their son, their brother, or, as the case may be, their uncle. There was Aunt Luna and Uncle Rolf, Uncle Neville and Aunt Hannah, various professors from Hogwarts, his co-workers from the Ministry, and, breaking several chairs as he sat down, Hagrid.

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whenever he visited hogwarts, he would always place a sprig of rosemary at base of the memorial. rosemary for remembrance, he would say. there was one question that i had never dared to ask. why remember, when it hurt so much?

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Teddy gave the eulogy, even though Wizarding tradition dictates it be given by a son of the deceased. Neither Al nor I begrudged him for it, because no matter what those blood purists may say, Teddy is Dad's son too, and because frankly speaking, neither of us felt up to it.

Mum and Uncle Draco were there too. I can't forget her part in all this, but I can't bring myself to resent her, either, because she loved Dad too, just not enough, never enough. And deep down, I know that Dad wouldn't have wanted any resentment on his behalf, not when he had been fighting for a better world his whole life.

His gravestone held none of the many achievements the public had lauded him for. It simply read:

_**Harry James Potter (1980 – 2024)**_

_**Beloved Father, Brother, Son, Friend**_

_**He will be dearly missed.**_

And I hope that somewhere, somehow, he would finally find the heaven that he could be happy in.

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the forget-me-nots were blooming at dad's funeral. that was when i finally realized that while it hurts to remember, forgetting would hurt even more.


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